Luck of the Irish
by 96 Hubbles
Summary: Warning: this is an SAD STORY. You might want to banish me when you're done. Seriously, NOT A COMEDY. I didn't mean to be evil this morning, but I'm telling you: Go forward at your own peril.


_Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, a fact that probably most of you will be grateful for. They are not intended to reflect in any way on the work of the original creators and writers._

**Luck of the Irish**

Early in the morning, coming out of sleep, he could hear far off voices. Their voices? Somehow, he wasn't sure.

----

In one way, Carter's had been the easiest, if only in the sense of being the most understandable, even - God help him, but it made him sick to admit it - the most expected.

Carter hadn't come back one night and he had convinced Klink to let him go with Schultz to search for the "escaped" man. And to no surprise they had found him, stumbling and shambling along the side of the road, making his way back towards camp. In his mind's eye he could still see Carter, dragging one foot in front of the other and staring off into space, even after the truck had come to a stop beside him.

But why was Schultz shouting?

He had got down and stepped in front of Carter. Finally the blue eyes seemed to focus and his Sergeant looked up at him. Carter was weeping. But - and this was strange - it was only out of one eye.

"I'm sorry Colonel," Carter said to him.

"It's all right Carter. Schultz and I will get you back to camp. I'll explain everything to Klink."

Carter sounded tired. "There was gasoline in the building."

"It's all right Andrew. Everything's going to be okay."

"I didn't mean to get caught in it. I didn't know there was gasoline. I would have done it differently if I'd known."

"I know Carter. It doesn't matter now," he said, and tried to get Carter into the truck.

Carter just stood there though. "Why didn't you tell me Colonel? Why didn't you warn me?"

He didn't hear any accusation in Carter's voice. No matter how many times he listened, all he ever heard was hurt and confusion. He looked into Carter's glassy eyes - eye - and then involuntarily threw himself back a step, then another. He kept backing away. He couldn't help it. He gulped hard and then his body started to heave, but still he couldn't look away. How…how had he not seen right from the start? How had he not heard what Schultz was yelling at him?

Oh Carter.

----

He could feel the warm sunshine on his face. This was a quiet, bright place.

----

Lebeau's was unexpected, but not that surprising. He should have seen it coming. Especially since it was the one time when he hadn't been invited to sit at the table.

He had been in the kitchen though, talking to Lebeau. But Lebeau had been distracted and anxious, even a little sad. However, he hadn't realized that until after the fact.

There was shouting out in the other room. His first reaction was, "What the hell?" But the General's adjutant and three guards exploded through the doors before he could go see what had happened.

Lebeau had looked at him apologetically as the guards grabbed hold of both of them. He didn't struggle. All he said was, "I am sorry, mon Colonel. I just could not do it any longer."

"What?" he'd demanded frantically. "What couldn't you do anymore?"

They were both dragged out and over to the table. Klink was moaning and wringing his hands. A man - a German General - sat there, his face grey and grotesquely contorted.

His adjutant, a rabidly furious Major, seized Lebeau by the back of the neck and shoved his face down into the General's food. He shouted in protest at his Corporal's humiliation, trying desperately to pull his arms out of his captor's grip, but no one could hear him over Klink's whining and the Major's screaming, "Eat it. Eat it you dog!"

When the Major yanked Lebeau's head up by his hair, he could see his Corporal's face, breathless and red, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You should have guessed, mon Colonel," he thought he heard Lebeau mumble through his mouth full of poisoned food.

Or maybe it had just been something he had seen reflected in Lebeau's eyes.

----

There were more sounds, but still hushed and slow moving. A distant part of his brain told him that it was later in the morning, but that meant nothing to him these days.

----

Newkirk's. He remembered little about Newkirk's. Only that one moment.

They had caught Newkirk stealing. It was sad to think, but he couldn't even remember now if it had been anything all that important. In any case, they hadn't bothered taking the condemned man away.

Where was Klink?

Newkirk was screaming, pleading. His terrorized eyes begged his Colonel to tell them that it wasn't his fault, he'd only been trying to help his fellow prisoners. Even as they wrenched his arms away from his sides and clamped his hands down onto the table, he could see that Newkirk still couldn't quite believe what was happening.

The cleaver swung.

These Germans were really into letting the punishment fit the crime.

----

The trolley with the loose wheel rolled by and the noise echoed down the corridor outside his room. He rolled over.

----

There had been no reason for Kinch's. It wasn't punishment for some crime. It wasn't an accident due to faulty information. It had come from the evil that was within every man, but so much more prevalent in some.

The Germans had done it the way they did to humiliate the both of them. As if to say, "This is how you do it at home, in America. Why should we bother to be any better than your own people?"

How they had laughed as he had stared beyond the wires, watching Kinch's feet swing in the breeze.

They had taken special pains to make sure the tree was in sight.

----

He finally awoke when the nurse opened his window. The sound of the rings sliding across the curtain rod startled him, and his sudden indrawn breath made her look at him.

She was young and beautiful, the June sunlight striking her red hair. A sweet-faced girl - maybe twenty-two or three - but with an appealing mix of mischief and wisdom in her eyes. An independent girl, determined and compassionate; an excellent nurse, she spotted what was wrong right away.

"Oh Mr. Hogan, did you have that dream again?"

"Yes."

A small, sad frown graced her heart-shaped face. She was intelligent enough to know that there was nothing she could say to make it better, and he was grateful for that. With gentle assistance from her, he ate his breakfast.

"Look Mr. Hogan, I was able to find you a Danish this morning! I know how much you like them. But I'll tell you, the way those orderlies were hovering around my trolley this morning - well you were lucky nothing happened to it."

Yes, nothing ever happened to him.

He'd always been the lucky one.

* * *

_Well, there you are. Not exactly the story for such a bright, spring morning like this one. I had originally intended there to be more question as to whether the events in Hogan's dreams had actually happened or not, so if you want to put it down to the twisted dreams of an old man with survivor's guilt for outliving his comrades, or Hogan's mind developing these scenarios due to the worry and responsibility he was always under, I'm not going to say no._

_As to where Klink was, I figured that Hogan could get away with describing Carter as an escaped prisoner who simply got caught up in an explosion as he was passing by, (yeah, improbable I know, but hey - it's Hogan!) but Lebeau killing a General in Klink's camp? Hogan might manage to talk himself out of it, but the Germans would have their revenge on Klink._

_Anyway, my apologies if I've brought you all down. But I did warn you._


End file.
